Abandoned on a doorstep, Tennessee man seeks roots

If Russell Parker had a name during his first three days of life, he will likely never know it.

The squealing blond-haired baby in the cardboard box arrived in August of 1980 with a note but not a name on the doorstep of 3594 Donna Drive in Frayser.

Now, 32 years later, the baby who was delivered with less fanfare than a box of pizza wants to know who left him there.

"I imagine I have a better chance of winning the lottery than of finding out," Parker said. "But maybe there's a chance someone will come forward."

There isn't much to know before Aug. 14, the date he was discovered by 10-year-old Matthew Dulin when he opened his front door to go out and play. The infant was wrapped in a towel with a note attached asking whoever found the blue-eyed baby to take care of him.

Matthew called his big sister, who called their mother at work, who was understandably surprised by her son's discovery.

The infant known as Baby Matthew, named in honor of the child who found him, received his share of media attention in the weeks following his abandonment. But by the end of the month the newspaper articles were getting shorter and fewer.

The Department of Human Services issued repeated calls for any blood relatives of Baby Matthew to come forward without fear of reprisal, but no one ever did.

At six months old, Baby Matthew was adopted by the only parents he has ever known and christened Russell Parker.

"I've known for years and years that I was adopted," said Parker, who is now a police officer in Pigeon Forge, Tenn. "I never really thought a whole lot about it up until recently."

That's because recently Parker decided that his 3-year-old son Broelin deserved to know something of his ancestry, if only for medical reasons.

So, Parker started searching. He went through medical records and adoption records and every other kind of record he could find, but so far his biological roots remain a mystery.

"I'm not really this touchy-feely type of person," Parker said, adding that he wasn't interested in forming a personal bond with his family. "I guess if I can figure out who they are, I guess we'll go from there."

But one thing Parker was clear on: He's deeply grateful to the people who left him on the Dulins' doorstep.

"Had they not put me on a doorstep, I could have wound up in a Dumpster," he said. "The life I've had with my parents I wouldn't trade for a million dollars."

Since 2001, a Safe Haven Law in Tennessee allows unwanted infants to be anonymously dropped off at any hospital, clinic or birthing center within 72 hours of their birth. As long as the child is unharmed, no questions will be asked and the mother or father are free to leave.

That hasn't always been the case, according to Dawn Geras of the National Safe Haven Alliance. The first safe haven law was enacted in Texas in 1999 and, since then, every state has followed suit with some kind of similar law.

Between 2001 and 2012, 67 babies have been relinquished in Tennessee under the Safe Haven Law, Geras said. But there were also 23 found illegally abandoned and of those, 11 were dead.

Geras said that babies like Parker are the lucky ones because "he's still alive. He has the comfort of knowing that whatever the background of his mother was, whether she didn't want to get caught, she cared enough to want him to be OK."

Parker knows that the odds are against him, but he hasn't totally given up hope that someday he'll know where and who he came from.

But if not, he says, "I can hold my head up knowing that I have tried."